


They All Laughed

by Lilya7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilya7/pseuds/Lilya7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people who thought John and Mary would never work out and one who knew they would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sylvia Tamagno-Morstan

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to randomly_rusted and prettybaby666, for their help and their patience.

**1\. Sylvia Tamagno – Morstan**

 

If she lived to a hundred years, she’d never understand her daughter.

Even as she looked at her now, Sylvia Morstan couldn’t help but smile and feel her heart clench at the same time. Her Mary looked beautiful in her wedding gown – if only she had gone for a floor-length one, she would have been even more beautiful!

But Mary didn't want that, like she didn't want a church or more than a handful of guests, and any suggestion had been met with “stop earbashing.”

Not that there had been much room for suggestions: by the time she had flown in, everything had been ready and planned.

Not for the first time, Sylvia wondered what Mary was thinking, marrying John Watson.

Not that she had anything against him – he was a doctor, he was a kind man and he had been so frightfully good during that horrible time, when Mary.... no, no, better not to think about it.

It was gone, it was passed, Mary was safe and married.

To John Watson.

After knowing him for little more than six months and he so much older than her and always hanging around that strange Holmes character!

Mary must have gone crazy. Or maybe it was just an infatuation – he had helped solve poor Nathan’s disappearance, then he had saved her from those criminals, what woman wouldn’t have been infatuated?

But Mary said she knew what she was doing and got pretty aggro if she even hinted at waiting a bit more – or at least having the wedding back home in Perth, which would have worked just as well.

Oh, well. It wasn’t the end of the world after all: infatuation would fade and things could be taken care of quietly – Doctor Watson seemed reasonable enough.

Besides, what was a divorce today? Sylvia's own mother would have been horrified, had she lived to see this, but back home nobody would bat an eye. Really, considering the only Australian guests were herself and Mary's old friend Becca King, it would be as though she had never married at all.  

Perhaps it was better that she had wanted just a civil ceremony – she would be able to marry in church next time. Maybe with a proper wedding gown.

 

*****

 

_On the dance floor, Mary Morstan-Watson leaned closer and whispered something in her new husband's ear. John smiled._


	2. James Moriarty

 

Sebastian Moran was not the kind of man who scared easily, however, there were things – some sounds, some sights – that could send cold chills down his spine.

The Professor giggling over his laptop like a schoolboy who has cracked his parent’s child lock was definitely one of them.

“News from Baker street, Professor?”

“The best! Looks like dear Sherlock left his pet off the leash! You’ll never guess!”

“Has he thrown him out?”

“Wrong! The good doctor is getting married!”

Moran gaped. “What? Married? You’re joking, right?”

Moriarty shook his head and laughed again. “Perhaps it’s his prize – he’s quite the good pet, you know. Or maybe he’s trying to send him away...Yes, wifey dearest won’t be too pleased with her husband traipsing out at all hours, chasing murderers and criminal masterminds. Then there’ll be children, of course...” His smile turned sharp, almost feral. “Isn’t that a cosy picture?”

Moran shrugged. “I still can’t believe Holmes would let the doctor out of his sight, let alone out of his flat.”

Moriarty leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “Oh, really, it’s so obvious! He’s trying to protect his faithful little toy – how sweet! Quite naive of Sherlock, isn’t it?”

There was something extremely familiar in his tone of voice. “I take it you have a plan?”

“One? At least twenty!” he said, twirling in his chair. “I’ll put this wedding on the first page of every newspaper and magazine, for weeks! Months! I think I’ll give Sherlock his toy back – won’t he be pleased?”

“You mean pissed off? You know he will.” Moran replied, absently looking for a lighter. “You know, Watson never struck me as the marrying kind. You better make it good, I don’t think we’ll ever had another chance.”

At those words, Moriarty abruptly sat up, his face going from barely-contained glee to brooding in the blink of an eye. “Yes. It’s a good chance...almost too good, don’t you think?”

Moran took a drag from his cigarette and didn’t answer – better not to bother the Professor when he had something on his mind or, worse, question him about his conclusions.

“This wedding...doesn’t it look a bit out-of-character for our doctor? After all, he has been dating this Morstan woman for...” he turned back to his laptop, quickly scrolling through Watson’s file. “...about five months! And remember the lovely doctor Sawyer? Three months of dating before he screwed her! It doesn’t sound right....” Just as suddenly, his lips curled in a knowing smirk. “Ah. Of course. It's a trap!”

“A trap? Are you sure?”

“What else could it be? She must be one of Mycroft’s agents.”

Moran frowned. “An opera singer?”

“Oh, come on, Seb, we can hardly criticize: we _did_ use a Chinese circus! And I never said she was an _important_ agent.” He giggled again. “I wonder how he convinced dear Sherlock to go along with him...He can’t be happy! I would have fallen for it hook, line and sinker, if they hadn’t been so hasty!”

“I see,” Moran said. “Shall we pay them a visit anyway?”

“No, we’ll leave the wedding be – and also Mrs. Watson, I think. I’d hate to be so predictable.” He sighed. “What a shame. I _love_ weddings.”


	3. Sally Donovan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: strong language

It was bound to happen – all of it, really.

It was a pity: Dr. Watson had practically given up on dating before Mary Morstan came along, but there was no way she’d stick around after being kidnapped.

Amazingly, it hadn’t been because of the freak – not this time.

But Sally had seen the mix of fear and crushing guilt on Watson's face when Miss Morstan had been confirmed missing, heard the tremor in his voice when he asked “Do you think it’s _him_?”

She had no idea who he meant, but it was pretty clear the freak knew. Speaking of the freak, it wasn’t actually his fault this time, but what about the next one? And the one after that? How long before not even Bow-To-My-Superior-Intellect Holmes could find her in time?  
All things considered, it wasn’t surprising he was the one who saw reason first.

Sally just wished he had waited until they were out of the MET for the break-up talk: his girlfriend sang without amplification for a living, her voice tended to carry even with the door closed.

“I'm not going to calm down!”

It didn’t count as eavesdropping if you really, really didn’t want to, right? It wasn’t her fault if her desk was _right there_ – she wasn’t a gossip like Kevin Parish from Vice! Now _he_ would have had a field day with this and he didn’t even know Watson and Holmes. Not that it ever stopped people like Kevin, but...

“So it’s _my_ fault I was kidnapped now?”

Sally blinked. He couldn’t have really said that, right? Especially not when the whole mess had been cause by a spectacularly incompetent criminal and a swapped suitcase!

Dr. Watson’s answer was a steady hum, a bit louder than before but still not enough to make it through the office walls. She unconsciously started leaning back toward the door, but caught herself almost immediately.

“Oh, belt up, John! You’re one to talk!”

No eavesdropping. It was none of her business. There was a ton of paperwork that wouldn’t fill itself and no matter how dull and dreary it was, she would not be distracted – and would not start sounding like the Freak, thank you very much! Besides, Dr. Watson was bound to remember exactly where they were and take the argument home – or at least to a pub. Any minute, now. 

Sally almost made it to through all the eight pages of form 47/B when another loud shout made her jump in her chair.  

“This is my fucking life! You don’t get to decide for me!”

Sally couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, even if she couldn’t see them. There was something horribly raw in the younger woman’s voice.

For a moment, Sally pitied Dr. Watson: it couldn’t be easy, listening to that voice and having to carry on – loving somebody and having to push them away for their own good.

“Don’t say that! Don’t you ever dare say that!”

She was old enough to know that love alone wasn’t enough, but at least she had never had to do something so heart-wrenching – though for the life of her she couldn’t understand why the doctor wouldn’t just drop the freak and keep his girl. Perhaps the whole mess wasn’t so heart-wrenching for him....

“Fine! Go! Don’t believe me! But I swear to God I’ll fucking show you, even if I have show up under your bloody window with a fucking boombox!” 

The door slammed shut behind Dr. Watson as he scarpered as fast as his limp would let him. Sally bowed her head on her paperwork, keeping an ear on the office for the tell-tale sounds of crying. None came. 

A few minutes later, Mary Morstan calmly walked out, a determined expression on her face. Her eyes were completely dry. 

 

******

 

_A week later, Mary Morstan showed up in Baker street without a boombox. She did, however, bring half an orchestra and three-quarters of a choir._


	4. Ellen Hudson

 

“....and then she had the _nerve_ to say it wasn't her fault and she wouldn't pay for it!” Letty Marston said, her face quite red with anger. “I told her it was coming out of her deposit and I wouldn't hear another word.”

“Ah! Well done, dear,” said Dottie Sharp.

“ _Great_ answer!” Marie Turner agreed, subtly pushing a plate of biscuits toward her friend. “How about you, Nellie? What news from 221B and its Terrible Tenant?”

“Yes, you haven't said a word.”

“Is he abroad again?” 

Ellen Hudson shook her head. “No, he's here, but...well, there's trouble in Paradise.”

Marie frowned. “Is this about that blonde girl who's always coming around at the weirdest hours?”

Ellen nodded grimly. “Yes, _her._ Got dear John pretty charmed, she has. They have been going out for a couple of months now.”

“What! _Really_?”

Dottie and Letty didn't say a thing, just leaned closer in eager anticipation.

“Yes! She came to ask Sherlock's help and hasn't left since. First she had a couple of tickets for her show, then...”

“Wait, wait, _her_ show?” Letty asked. “You mean she's an _artist_?”

“She sings opera. I'm not _quite_ sure she's with a company.”

“Wait, wait, I think I saw her when I brought back your book...” Dottie said. “Last Thursday, was it? I was coming in while they were going out?”

Ellen had to think for a second before she answered her. “That's right, you did.” 

“Oh my, she's a bit younger than him, isn't she?”

“Twelve years. I saw it on her website.”

“Oh, so that's what had you muttering so?” Marie asked.

Ellen blushed. “Well, you should see how she _chased_ poor John. I'm all for girls standing up for themselves, mind you, but she's a bit too persistent.”

Both Letty and Dottie shook their heads, muttering sympathetically about girls these days while she drank her tea.

“Well, all the persistence in the world won't help her against your Terrible Tenant.” Marie said. “By the way, hasn't he done anything yet?”

Ellen shrugged. “He has a few cases, but nothing big, and she keeps such weird hours none of them interfered with their dates. But it's only a matter of time now. A couple of cancelled dates and she'll ask John to choose”

“And we all know how that will turn out,” Letty chuckled.

Marie opened her mouth to say something, but a movement out of the window caught her eye. “Say, Nellie, isn't that her coming up the street?.”

“What?” Ellen rose and rushed to the window, closely followed by Letty and Dottie “Yes, that's her! Why on Earth does she have a suitcase?”

 

*****

 

_Next door, blissfully unaware she was being discussed, Mary Morstan was busy cancelling a week worth of dates entirely on her own._

 

 


	5. Chiara Padovan

“Whoa, Mary! Got a hot date?” Natalie asked, smiling, as her flatmate walked into the kitchen dressed to the nines. 

Mary smiled back, a little nervously. “We're treating ourselves. Can I borrow your silver bag?”

“Sure.”

“Go get him, girl!” Chiara said, offering an exaggerated toast with her glass of water. “And remember: whatever you do in your room, we don't want to know!”

Mary rolled her eyes. “I don't think we'll come back here after dinner.”

“Why not? It's not like we'd mind,” she insisted. “Besides, we can't wait to meet your doctor.”

Natalie barely kept from kicking her: she knew exactly what Chiara meant with “your doctor.”

Mary frowned, her hands unconsciously tightening around the silver bag. “It's still early. We'll see.” She took a deep breath, visibly forcing herself to relax.

Natalie leaned closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just... just nervous.”

“Why? It's not your first date.” Natalie turned to glare at Chiara. “What? It's true! They have been going out for a month...” Her voice trailed off and suddenly she whipped around. “Mary. You're not going to give him That Talk, are you?”

Mary's face went blank – the kind that was too careful to be real – and she didn't answer.

The other girl took it as an invitation to keep going. “Honey, really! Are you _trying_ to scare him off? Look, it's bad enough you're dating outside the business...”

“Christ, you make it sound like _cosa nostra,_ ” Natalie muttered, rolling her eyes.

Chiara glared daggers at her. “Oh, yes, laugh! But our jobs aren't exactly nine-to-five and neither is his! Whose job do you think it's going to come first? That's why artists marry artists.”

“I've met a lot of self-absorbed artists, you know,” Mary said wryly.

“But you have been dating for one month! _Why_ do you have to scare him away? Don't you want to be happy?”

“Look, if he can't deal with...those things about me, I'd rather know _now._ I'm just being honest”

Chiara shook her head and threw her hands in the air. “This is self-sabotage, that's what it is! And it's all Yael's fault!”

“For fuck's sake, she isn't even here!” Natalie growled.

“I'm pretty sure she didn't start the Tay-Sachs disease screening program, either,” Mary added. “I just borrowed the idea. It's _my_ choice.”

“There's no talking to you,” Chiara huffed, sinking back in her chair. “You're crazy and you're going to end up old, sad and alone.”

“Still my choice, still none of your fucking business.” Mary hissed. “Wish me luck or don't, I couldn't care less.”

Natalie leaned over and grabbed her hand. “Break a leg, Mary. If he's horrible about it, I'll break both of his.”

That got a chuckle out of her. “Thanks for the offer, just remember John was in the army.”

“In that case, I'll get _Yael_ to break his legs when she comes back from Rome.” Mary laughed. “What? She was in the army, too. And don't ruin my purse or I'll send her after you too.”

“Yael loves me best,” she replied, laughing and sticking out her tongue like a kid.

“That's true. Now off you go, didn't you have a date?”

“Thanks for cheering me up, Nat,” Mary said. “Don't wait up. Bye!”

The door closed behind her. 

“ _I_ still think it's crazy,” Chiara muttered. “He's gonna run, you'll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tay-Sachs disease is an hereditary disease that affects young children, almost exclusively of Eastern European Jewish descent. An organization Dor Yeshorim carries out an anonymous screening program for couples - Tay-Sachs disease isn't the only thing they test for, but it's the best-known. 
> 
> Mary isn't Jewish, but her friend Yael is: she learned about the screening program from her and adopted the idea after a disastrous relashionship. Now, when Mary dates someone and it looks like thing could get serious, she sits her date down and reveals a couple of non-negotiable things about her that could be (and have been) dealbreakers.


	6. +1 Sherlock Holmes

No one in their right mind would have ever called Sherlock Holmes selfless – not the Yarders, not his family and definitely not Sherlock himself.

However, he was exactly the kind of person who did selfless things for purely selfish reasons. Things such as plotting a bit of matchmaking – and wouldn't Mycroft laugh himself silly if he knew!

Though it was just possible that he wouldn't believe it. After all, Sherlock had never shared well and that was exactly what he was planning to do.

Sharing John.

No, Mycroft _definitely_ wouldn't believe it. Sherlock couldn't quite believe it himself, if he was honest, but it wasn't every day that the most...adequate woman for your best mate walked into your flat with a case.

Mary Morstan.

Australian, obviously, from Perth (trust it to be the one of those places without a specific accent, though all the urban middle classes did sound alike nowadays – still, incredibly annoying for a man who could tell a person from Acton from one from Hammersmith. Also, no matter what John said, he _wasn’t_ going to study and memorize all the colours of every sport team in the world, he could feel his brain cells _dying_ at the mere thought. Stupid keychain).

Mezzo-soprano, professional opera singer by trade, and accomplished pianist.  

Ambitious, and while Sherlock didn't care for ambitious people in general – see Mycroft – in this case it was a good thing: she would never give up her job, which meant a lot of travelling, which meant she'd be out of the way and John would still be free to follow him on cases.

Well-organized and intelligent enough to bring him everything she had, from police reports to the papers found in her father's room – if only all his clients were so efficient, instead of demanding miracles!  

Surprisingly good nerves, a good dose of patience and determination, great musical knowledge...they'd never find better!

Best of all, she was already attracted to John, it was plain as the day. Accepting a cup of tea and drinking it when she didn't like tea at all, really...so irrational. Then again, people invariably were when they were attracted to somebody, a sad fact of life.

And John was attracted to her as well. They had instinctively clung together at the suggestion of danger – a wonderful sign. It would be better not to involve Mary in future investigations, it would compromise John's effectiveness, but that wouldn't be a problem: she had stepped back without complaint when asked to, trusting their professional capacities. Really, why couldn't there be more clients _and more policemen_ like her?

Now, if only John would see reason, instead of all that “I'm too old for her, she's not interested” nonsense.

Apparently, the downside of saying you were married to your work was that people felt they could disregard your advice about personal relationships, even when they _clearly_ should know better.

Well, never mind. John _would_ date Mary Morstan whether he liked it or not. Just one date, it was all they needed; everything else would follow naturally.

Now, according to Mrs. Hudson’s romance novels, all that was needed was for them to crash into each other, ideally spilling some liquid beverage and damaging their clothes, though groceries and other heavy objects would work just as well.

Personally, Sherlock couldn’t see what was so romantic about laundry bills and wasted shopping trips, but, well, who was he to complain about unorthodox methods?

Miss Morstan was a regular at Starbucks, but there were at least two that were closer to her flat than theirs – maybe he could send John to fetch him a cup from every Starbucks in the city for a comparison? No, too obvious.

Groceries it was, then. That was easily arranged, too: John would be coming out of Tesco, Miss Morstan would be passing by and bam, Arnold Sideways would slam into her and push her right into him.

Except he had to make sure they’d both be there at the right time.

Now, John was easy enough, but what about Mary? He couldn’t ask her to settle the bill for his services outside of Tesco. He'd have to ask his network more data on her shopping habits, _then_ he could figure out the pattern and run out of milk at the right moment.

Definitely a better plan, more strategically sound. Really, it hardly counted as involvement at all. John would never suspect a thing.

Sherlock wondered how long it would be before he asked his special network to change their surveillance from “report everything she does” to “keep an eye out for trouble.”

It suddenly struck him that this premeditated meddling could be more than A Bit Not Good – John certainly wouldn't appreciate all his hard work. Just like all health professionals, he loved healthy things as long as they weren't being forced on him. It was likely he wouldn't agree that this counted as a “healthy thing” at all and perhaps he was right, it didn't – not _yet_.

Sherlock held no illusions when it came to his own flaws. A good man wouldn't have coldly planned to push an innocent woman – a woman he _respected_ , even – in a relationship that was sure to attract James Moriarty's attention. 

A good man would have let John walk away from Mary Morstan and their growing attraction and all the possible futures they could share, all the things they could _be_... because it was the honourable, the safest course of action.

Sherlock knew he was not a good man. He wasn't selfless, he wasn't generous, he wasn't a lot of things, but most of all he was a man who would not be caught unprepared again.

Mary Morstan would surely end up on Moriarty's radar, but Sherlock was already in the cross-hairs.

He would never, _ever_ admit it to anyone, not even to John – least of all John – but he could still remember in vivid detail how he had felt when he had seen the Semtex jacket.

That moment of pure, utter _terror_ reminded him that there was a price to pay for all gifts, even for companionship and acceptance freely given. Sherlock was determined that John would _not_ be the one to pay it.

So there it was, the very _real_ , very _unavoidable_ possibility that Sherlock would...well, not lose, no. But maybe he wouldn't come out of his victory alive, either.

And if he didn't, John would need someone at his side, someone who loved him enough to put their life on hold for him, at least for a little while, and then drag him back to the world kicking and screaming.

Sherlock didn't know who that person might be, who could possibly be trusted with John, until Mary Morstan walked into his flat with a six-years-old disappearance case.

She put her life on hold for a while – she _had_ to, just so she could fly back to Perth and recover her father's papers and while she had been pushed to act by the yearly delivery of jewels and the rather more recent repeated breaking-and-entering into her room, she had clearly been planning to have the case reopened for a long time, possibly since the police couldn't find a satisfactory lead and labelled it a mugging gone wrong ( _idiots!_ ). It was written clearly in the police reports she had obtained, in the way every bit of paper was carefully preserved.

Mary Morstan was loyal and stubborn. Mary Morstan, while no Callas, was brilliant in her own way, in her own right when it came to music. Her job was important to her, but the people she loved were even more so.

She was no Sherlock Holmes, could never even think of competing with him as long as he lived, but she would be good for John if... _if_. 

No matter what happened to him, John would be fine, John would _live_ , John wouldn't be alone.

Screw selflessness. This was Sherlock at his most selfish and if it made him a bad man, well, so be it. He wouldn't lose any sleep over it.

 

*********************

 

_Luckily for all involved, Sherlock's skills as a matchmaker was never tested: five minutes later Mary Morstan dropped by, ostensibly to bring Sherlock his check._

_She was with him for almost half an hour and, before she left, she pinned to the mantelpiece two tickets for the production of_ Le nozze di Figaro _in which she was currently starring._

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born after season 1 on the kink meme discussion posts: I posted about my head-canon for an Awesome!Mary Morstan and a few people encouraged me to write a fic. Thanks for feeding that plot bunny.  
> Ages and ages later, here's the final result. I hope you'll like it
> 
> The title was taken from George and Ire Gershwin's song "They all laughed". Personally, I was inspired by Fred Astaire's version.


End file.
